Except for the Soul
by mymostpreciouslife
Summary: When nothing is the same except for the soul, what if? What if Christine had scars like Erik? What if Raoul can't offer her everything? Erik has had a happy life, but tragedy is around the corner. How will the story end? AUish. revised
1. red

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except for the story in my head.

The characters are from the 2004 movie. Same time setting. If I make any mistakes, please forgive me!

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When nothing is the same except for the soul, what if?

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Erik stepped outside, lifted his face toward the bright sun, and sighed. Today was a day of hope. Erik began walking away from the house when he heard his name. He turned, "Yes?" Erik's father walked toward him and looked into his eyes.

"Blessings." He pulled Erik closer to him, and kissed both sides of his face.

"Thank you," Erik said quietly and then walked away.

-

Christine was tired. She'd had another dream. These dreams haunted and thrilled her. Most nights she would wake up crying. They were familiar and alarming. They were of her past and future. She needed peace, but as to where she could find it, no one knew. Christine walked around her room, pacing really, trying to think of something that might bring her rest. Thoughts still twirling around in her head, the door to her room opened and her mother's face appeared. Christine dropped her head and looked at the floor.

"You've had another dream, haven't you?" her mother asked.

"I did," she said meekly.

Her mother entered the room and said, "Come here, child." Christine's eyes never left the floor as she obeyed.

"Look at me," came the next command. Christine raised her head, but kept her eyes closed, sparing herself from her mother's judging eyes.

"You've been crying, too," the mother sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

Christine knew it was coming, she never knew when to expect it though. As if her mother knew her thoughts, she felt it. The sting of flesh against flesh made her want to throw up. Christine's expression was stone as a tear slid down her now red face, the left cheek pulsing in pain.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to marry you off. I've told you time and time again not to cry. Your face gets scrunched up. If you ruin the other side of your face, no man will ever have you."

Having felt that she had made her point, the mother turned and left. When Christine heard the door close, she opened her eyes and welcomed the solitude. She rushed to her dresser and sat down in front of it. Her deformed cheek was flaming red. She pressed a cool palm against her face to try to ease the pain and redness. As she took calming breaths, she began to remember.

Years ago, Christine had been playing tag with her cousins. She was running through the kitchen, looking over her right shoulder to see if she was safe or not. Somehow she lost her footing and fell, smacking the left side of her head onto a glowing red log that was in the fireplace. The burns weren't severe, but the burns left scars. The scars covered all of her temple, a little at the corner of her eye, the outer edge of her cheek bone, and stopped at her jaw bone. Her hair covered most of the damage, but a gust of wind could easily reveal what she was trying desperately to hide.

A soft knock at the door brought her back to the present.

"May I come in?" asked the kind voice.

"Please," was her soft reply. Raoul walked in, leaving the door open. He looked at Christine and his heart ached out of sympathy. He walked over and knelt by her chair. Christine buried her face in his shoulder and began to cry. Raoul wrapped his arms around her shaking frame.

"I am so sorry," he said trying to comfort her.

"I didn't mean to do that," she said pulling away. He smiled as he watched her wipe away her tears with the back of her hands.

"It's ok." He stood up and pulled a handkerchief out his pocket then handed it to her. Christine accepted it and dabbed at her eyes. When she looked up he was studying her. She gave him a shy smile then looked away. Raoul crouched back down, and very slowly put his hands on the sides of her face. Christine didn't wince even though it hurt – he didn't have soft hands. He was a worker, her father's hired help. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. His eyes roamed her face.

"You are a good friend," she said warmly.

"Christine, we've talked about this," he sighed. "I want to be more than your friend. We grew up together, played together, talked for many hours. You've cried on my shoulder countless times." She closed her eyes and turned her face.

Trying to convince her he said, "With the money I've been saving up, it won't be long before I can afford a life with you. You'll be able to leave this place." Christine finally looked into his eyes, her lips beginning to tremble.

"Raoul, I just don't know." He stood up disappointed, his arms now at his sides.

"Will you at least think about it?" Christine nodded. She hated looking into his eyes, but she knew that he wouldn't leave if she didn't. Raoul gave her a half-hearted smile and left.

Even though he was a comfort to Christine, she was glad that he left. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her dreams. Christine placed the forgotten handkerchief in her jewelry box, stood up, and walked to her desk. Last night she'd experienced a new dream. She took the piece of paper and pencil from her desk and sat down on her bed. Christine looked at the paper she held in her hands and almost expected the words that were floating in her head to appear on the sheet.

"God, help me," she murmured. It was not just a cry for remembrance. She wanted her desire for a better life to be fulfilled. She began to fidget as she focused on her dream.

Red. She remembered the color red.

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**Author's Note: **This is my first phanphic, and I hope you enjoyed it! Please review. Chapter 2 will be here eventually.

Baruch Hashem Adonai


	2. blue

**Disclaimer:** Again, I own nothing except for the scenes that play out in my head.

I'm sorry it's so short. I'll try to write more next time!

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Erik stared at the worn path before him. He had walked it many times. It lead to a place of peace, and a place of safety. He put his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do. "This is silly," he finally said to himself. His thoughts began to take him back home, but he didn't move. He finally relented to the childish part of himself and began to walk steadily down the trail.

-

Christine couldn't breathe. Splashing all around her was blue. The most fabulous blues anyone could have ever imagined. She was being washed in it, healed in it. She was living in the color blue. To be happy was to be in blue. Blue meant no more painful slaps across the face. Blue meant no more scars. Blue meant no more sorrow. Topaz became a whirlwind. The sound of it swirling, rushing was nothing like she had ever heard before. It brushed and flowed against her ears as softly as an afternoon wind, but as wild as a tornado.

Eyes

Her body lurched forward, her lungs ached for the air that she had unknowingly been withholding. She sat up in bed and touched her face. To her sadness, the blue had not healed her after all. She began gasping for breath, making sure to be quiet so no one would hear. Christine fell back onto her pillows and tried to breathe normally. She put a hand over her beating heart and swallowed. When her breathing slowed, Christine realized that something had changed. She wasn't crying. She wasn't crying!

Giving a small, breathy chuckle, she covered her eyes with hand. The blue that had danced before her dreaming eyes had helped her after all. A small miracle. Ever since the dreams had started, until now, she had always cried. Christine let her hand fall onto the bed. She smiled to herself and softly laughed.

"Eyes," she whispered. She looked into the black that filled her room, hoping that those eyes would appear. They didn't. She flipped the covers off and felt her way to the desk. She pulled the sheet of paper from its hiding place. This was the same sheet of paper that had her "red" dream on it. She groped for a pencil and found one. Guessing where a blank space would be on the paper she began writing. "Blue . . ."

-

Erik felt hands on his shoulders. He already knew that no one was behind him. He was remembering. Erik closed his eyes and bowed his head. He felt the strong hands on his shoulders. A tear dripped off of his nose. He covered his face with his hands then wiped his eyes. He looked up at the small shelter in front of him. Erik heaved a great sigh. This was the end of the path. He stared at it knowing that those hands that had built it were the same hands that were on his shoulders.

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**Author's note: **I'm sorry that I couldn't update any sooner. A lot of bad things have happened, but it's better now.

Blessings!

Baruch Hashem Adonai


	3. visions

**Disclaimer:** see previous chapters

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Erik walked inside the small shelter, and turned around so he could face the outdoors. Hope had surrounded him on his journey. Now that he was at his destination, he wasn't so sure. He sat on the floor and began picking at the blades of grass that had grown through the cracks of the wood floor. Memories filled his soul, each one just as precious as the other.

From birth, Erik had been marked by his grandfather. He had been named after him. His grandfather called him Erik, my boy. Erik called him Papa. As he grew up, he was able to visit his Papa quite often. They would always greet each other with a hug and a kiss. When Papa read poetry out loud, Erik sat at his feet and listened. He listened to everything Papa had to say. Erik tugged at a stubborn piece of grass and it finally gave way. He heard his Papa's voice somewhere in the distance of time. His spirit quickened to meet up with it.

"As for man, his days are as grass . . ."

He had been seven years old when Papa had built him this shelter. He had taken many days, but the labor sprang out of love. Papa allowed the unconditional love of God to flow through him. Everyone who knew him knew they were loved. Deeply loved. Even at a young age, Erik saw this and was determined to be like his Papa when he grew up. He wanted to touch people's lives like his grandfather had. He wanted to be the safe place where people could just be themselves. No condemnation, no judging, just loving.

Erik remembered the time his Papa taught him how to tell time.

The room was filled with a warm light and Papa sat in his straightback chair. When he saw little Erik, he picked him up and put him in his lap.

"You haven't learned how to tell time, have you?"

"No, sir. No one has taught me."

"Well then! I'll teach you." Papa smiled and pulled out his pocket watch. He turned Erik around so that they would both face the same way. He held the watch out in front of them both, and began to twirl the hands to the numbers desired.

"Now when the big hand is . . . "

Erik gazed at the slightly shaking hands that held the watch. The hands were strong, yet so very caring. He felt protected sitting in his Papa's lap. His courage began to build. Yes! He would face the wicked clock at his parent's house. It would no longer scare him because he now knew its secret.

He snapped back to reality. A gust of wind rushed through the trees, making them sway and bend. Erik stood up, dusted himself off, and began to walk back home.

Today had been a day of hope. Hope had lost its way in the memories and left with the gust of wind. Erik was joyful in that he knew his Papa was _home._ However, sorrow was ever present. Without thinking, he would feed it by dwelling on regrets. Most days he could be strong. Most days . . . He had hoped to regain his strength and his courage to face and conquer the "evil clocks." Instead he left with an ache. An ache that can only be understood by those who have had a blessing taken away.

Erik turned and looked at the shelter one last time before it would be completely out of his sight. And in that last look, he found his hope, his strength, and his courage. The eyes of his soul looked out and saw his Papa. And his Papa was praying for him. As the words cried unto the Holy Intercessor reached Erik's heart, the vision ceased.

He stood there a long time with tears in his eyes and praises on his lips.

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**Author's Note:** My semester is finally over! I hope to write a lot during the summer. Thank you all for your patience!

Blessings!

Baruch Hashem Adonai


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